Disunity
by Frohike
Summary: A disturbing event as seen through Wash's eyes.


Disunity  
Author: Frohike  
Rating: R, for violence  
Distribution: Anywhere you'd like, just drop me a line and ask first  
please.  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.  
  
This is my first and probably last Firefly fic, a product of a long  
sleepless night. This came from a dark, dark place in my mind. I  
toned it down considerably from what I saw, believe me.  
  
Opening quote respectfully borrowed from the episode entitled  
"Shindig" written by Jane Espenson.  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
'Here lies my darling wife, Zoe, my autumn flower, somewhat less  
attractive now she's all corpsified and gross.'  
  
All alone, in a tiny shuttle floating among the stars, Wash put both  
hands on his head and pressed as hard as he could. 'Stop, stop, stop,  
stop,' he chanted silently. Those words, the ridiculous eulogy he'd  
composed on the spot and uttered in jest after a midday interlude, now  
kept looping through his brain. He lifted his head and stared back at  
his ship, the place he'd called home up until about thirty minutes  
ago. Until they'd shown up.  
  
They'd snuck up on Serenity while Wash was off the bridge attending to  
a problem in shuttle two. Nothing major, a stupid short in a panel  
light they'd noticed the last time they'd had to use the shuttle and  
had never gotten around to fixing. Kaylee'd offered to take care of  
it, but Wash sent her away. He and Zoe weren't speaking at that  
moment and Wash needed some time to cool down. Ultimately he would  
have gone back to Zoe, hat in hand, and apologized for being a jerk.  
  
The crew was playing ball in the cargo bay. He heard Jayne yell at  
River to throw the gorram ball, followed shortly by the sound of the  
ball hitting something solid and an unmistakable yelp of pain. Wash  
chuckled as the rest of the crew laughed uproariously. He could  
picture Jayne, doubled over, clutching the family jewels and probably  
muttering 'ta ma de' or some other appropriate epithet under his  
breath.  
  
Suddenly, incomprehensibly, the cargo bay doors engaged. He could  
hear the scrambling of his shipmates to action, followed by yelling,  
then banging, and screaming and screaming and screaming.  
  
It was the screaming that sent him hurdling from the shuttle and onto  
the deck overlooking the cargo bay. Reavers! Seven? Ten? He wasn't  
sure how many, but oh dear God, the blood!  
  
Simon had been the lucky one; his severed head lay about six feet from  
the rest of his body and appeared to be watching one of the Reavers  
feast on his left arm. He must have been closest to the doors when  
they opened and thus spared the usual prolonged brutality associated  
with a Reaver attack. One swift blow to the neck. Yeah, he was the  
fortunate one.  
  
Kaylee, little Kaylee, screaming, fighting for her life as another  
Reaver brutally raped her, then slit her throat. Wash watched in  
horror as the invader threw his head back and issued forth a victory  
cry, before ripping out the rest of her throat with his jagged teeth.  
  
Jayne, issuing a battle cry of his own, tried to pull the bastard from  
Kaylee's body. Reavers were the only things in the Verse that scared  
Jayne; at even the most casual mention of the name, his face would go  
ashen, not that he'd ever admit it, of course. Wash always thought  
that Jayne was sweet on Kaylee and seeing the man face down his  
greatest fear to try and rescue her pretty much solidified that  
notion.  
  
Jayne slammed the butt of his beloved gun, Vera, down onto the  
Reaver's skull, to no avail. The now annoyed Reaver turned on Jayne  
and gutted him with the same blade he'd used on Kaylee. Not satisfied  
with the mess he'd made, the Reaver snatched Vera as Jayne's body fell  
to the floor and used it to club the dead man's face until it was  
nothing more than a jellied mass of blood, bone and tissue.  
  
The Reaver's joyous cries brought Wash back to his right mind. Zoe!  
Where was his wife? Wash wanted to run for the stairs, wanted to find  
her, but his gorram feet wouldn't move. 'Move, you coward, move!' He  
could hear Jayne's voice chiding, pushing him to action, but Wash's  
feet betrayed him.  
  
Grunting, more screaming, banging, crashing and then he saw it. A  
body, mangled almost beyond recognition, bloodied, torn and naked from  
the waist down, skidded across the floor of the cargo bay. Mal! Oh  
God, Mal!  
  
Two Reavers appeared and set about ripping the choicest cuts from  
Mal's corpse. Wash collapsed and vomited again. Again? When had he  
vomited the first time, he wondered. Why was he still here? Why  
wasn't he down there?  
  
Gunshots, screaming. Zoe! He'd know her warrior woman voice  
anywhere. Zoe and Book emerged from a corner of the cargo bay, guns  
held high. That was his wife for you, each shot carefully planned and  
executed. No wasted shots from her gun, no sir!  
  
Five, maybe six Reavers rushed Zoe and Book.  
  
"Inara! River! NOW!" Zoe yelled.  
  
Gunfire issued from behind crates on the cargo bay floor. River hit  
everything she aimed at, Inara hit most for her part, but they might  
as well have been hurling pebbles for all the damage they did. Four  
Reavers fell on Book and Zoe; four more on River and Inara.  
  
'Eight,' Wash thought. 'There were eight of them.'  
  
'Get up!' He struggled to his feet, never taking his eyes off of the  
nightmare below. Another scream, male, had to be Book. A shriek,  
wild and feral, River. Inara was already dead. Wash didn't know how  
he knew, but of that he had no doubt. Another scream, not Zoe, but a  
Reaver. Zoe was suddenly hoisted up in the air. Wash could see  
something bloody oozing out from between her fingers.  
  
Wash howled. "ZOE!!"  
  
She turned her face upward, toward Wash. "RUN!" she screamed. The  
Reaver snapped her spine and threw her to the ground. While the  
others fell on Zoe's corpse, the injured Reaver stood staring up at  
Wash. He pushed the others out of his way and moved toward the  
stairs.  
  
Finally, all of the frozen synapses in Wash's brain thawed, allowing  
him to move. He dove for the door of the shuttle, sealing it tightly  
behind him. Years of experience took over; conscious thought gone,  
leaving nothing but 'run, run, run', behind.  
  
Now, floating in space, facing the deceptively peaceful vision of  
Serenity, Wash broke down. He cried for his wife, for the friends  
lost, for never having had apologized to Zoe for the stupid argument  
that had resulted in his being in the shuttle and not on the cargo bay  
floor. He felt useless, another bit of flotsam in space, serving no  
purpose.  
  
'Cut it out!' he heard Zoe say.  
  
"I turned yellow on you, babe," Wash answered. "I let you die."  
  
'No, you gorram idjit, you survived!'  
  
"So what?" Wash said. "I survived. Now what?"  
  
'Take 'em out!' Zoe's voice told him. 'You turn back and you take  
them out so they can't ever do this to anyone again.'  
  
"Take 'em out." Wash repeated. "Take 'em out." He nodded. "I will,  
babe, I promise."  
  
Wash gazed at Serenity one last time. He'd piloted her through Hell  
and back and she'd never let him down. He knew her strengths and,  
most important right now, her weaknesses.  
  
He brought the shuttle around, aiming straight for the sweet spot.  
  
"See you soon, babe," he whispered. "See you soon." 


End file.
